Eighteenth of Harbinger
The Kingdom of Svaleta had always had a complicated relationship with magic and those who wielded it. After they were granted new independence following the fall of the Palian Empire, all magic had been driven out of their lands. If the official stories were to be believed, this had been the result of a war with a nation of mages that had attempted to conquer the peaceful farming nation. Older tales, long forgotten to most, told of a Svaletan king who had decided to eradicate all magic from his lands. It was this conflict that drove Belkai’s predecessor into Narandir and created the oppression of the elves that had lasted a thousand years. The words quoted by Sashai in that mine echoed the thoughts of many Svaletans even now: magic would be the destruction of all. The one exception, if it was even that much, was the Temple of the Sun in the capital of Svaleta. The city had been built in the valley between two hills. On one stood the king’s grand palace, secure behind walls and roving guards. On the second stood the whitewashed, many-spired Temple, led by the Prophetess of the Sun. Together they ruled, the King and the Prophetess, with an uneasy separation of powers whose precise borders depended on the exact occupant of each office. The crucial distinction lay in the fact that although the king was always feared and respected for his power and authority, the Prophetess was beloved for her wisdom and benevolence. Her name was Siara, though it had been a long time since any had used it. As she did most days, she stood before the window in her chambers at the top of the Temple’s central spire, staring out at the city. She was clothed in a soft white dress that ran down to her ankles, ending just above her bare feet. Her hazel eyes were mixed with sadness and fear as she watched a detachment of soldiers patrol the Temple grounds. It was too late for that, really. Only a matter of months had passed since her sacred place had been defiled by the Arcane’s attack dogs. Too many of her people had been killed by the very Arcane who then demanded her loyalty. That occasioned a sad smile. Who could blame her for ultimately placing her loyalty with Narandir? Those who sought freedom deserved loyalty, not the oppressors, and that was exactly what the Arcane had become. So she had sent Sashai to this Council of Mages, but it had been too long with no word. Something had gone wrong. Somehow Delorax had found out about the meeting and intervened – which meant that he knew of the Temple’s involvement. So now everything was at risk.
She hadn’t been overly surprised that a lone rider from the Brilhardem had been spotted crossing the border with Tios. What was surprising was that she had identified herself to the border guards and asked for an escort. She had her informants in the palace, and had demanded that she join the king in his meeting with the mage. He had accepted, and Siara had hardly slept that night as she pondered the strange turn of events. This was Svaleta, after all. Mages did not simply appear and demand an audience with the king – especially those who, by law, were to be killed on sight. Farhad still had yet to change that law, despite his supposed alliance with Belkai of Narandir. The insolence alone was enough to have piqued his curiosity, though it frightened Siara. The Silent Order was known for just that – subtlety and discretion. To act this brazenly was so out of character that it signalled news of the worst kind.
The gentle click of the door opening caused Siara to break away from her thoughts and turn to the man in the doorway. He was older than most, in his thirties, and had a sword strapped to his side. Siara resisted the urge to sigh. Her priests had insisted that she have a bodyguard after the attack on the Temple. Times were changing for the worst, and now even the Prophetess had to watch out for dangers.
“It is time, Milady,” the man said quietly.
“Thank you, Jarrel,” she said, and slipped her feet into the pair of shoes beside her. “We mustn’t keep the king waiting.”
She missed Toldir’s smile, but he was the first priest to die in the attack. She missed Sashai’s wisdom, but she was nowhere to be found. The border guards were under orders to escort her should they find her, but there had been no word. It was a lonely walk along the flower-lined path that led to the palace. She was oblivious to the sad stares of the Svaletans who stopped to watch her pass by. They too had been shocked by the violence that had been rained upon their once safe city. It wouldn’t stop there, she knew. Svaleta faced dark days no matter how the story ended. Her only hope was that she would bear the light to guide them into a new day. Jarrel’s head was on a swivel, assessing the citizens gathered near the path, searching for threats. And what could you do against a vampire or werewolf, Siara wanted to ask, but never did. The man was willing to die for her. That earned her respect and gratefulness.
She forced the morbid thoughts from her mind as she stepped through the palace gates and was met by the king’s steward, who bowed low and led Siara and Jarrel to the throne room’s antechamber. A grim-looking Svaletan quickly rose from his chair, bowing as he greeted the Prophetess.
“It is always an honour, Milady,” Marshal Berias Tao, head of the militia, said with a surprisingly gentle voice. “Would that these were simpler times.”
Siara knew him to be sincere. He was the most dangerous individual in the kingdom, with a deep knowledge of every important figure and the power to use it to tear down any opponent. He was also a man of integrity who could be trusted. It was a rare combination in this world, and Siara gave him a respectful nod.
“The mage?” she asked. Berias shook his head.
“She has yet to arrive. General Alihad is also on his way.” Berias shrugged. “The king has bid us wait.”
Siara was about to reply when the door opened. They turned, not saying a word as a young woman came out straightening her white dress before running a hand through her dishevelled hair. She walked past them without a glance, her body language radiating a confidence that Siara knew was a lie. She exchanged a glance with Berias and lifted an eyebrow. He watched as the woman turned the corner, then shook his head.
“The world stands on the brink of war and he plays with his toys,” he whispered. “Foolishness.”
“War, Marshal?” Siara asked. “Is that not rather extreme?”
“Not now,” Berias told her. “Wait for the king.”
They didn’t have to wait long. The steward moved past them to check that the king was decent, then summoned them. Farhad Orinor was seated on his throne as if he had been holding court with his advisors. There was no evidence of what had just been happening behind the sealed doors, though Siara noted the smallest trace of lipstick on his neck. She hid her anger as more footsteps behind them announced another arrival. She and Berias bowed before the throne, and she glanced over to see General Alihad, the proud head of the Svaletan army, standing beside the Marshal.
“Rise,” Farhad ordered. “You have all heard of the mage’s coming.”
There was no need to reply, and the king sighed. “It seems that the Silent Order is making a habit of running across our borders on their missions. The girl is on her way here now under escort. Why is she here?”
Now there was no way to reply. All that they could offer were theories, and those would never satisfy Farhad’s insecurities. Siara traded a quick glance at Alihad when the king looked away. He shook his head; his soldiers had not given any insights.
“It is, perhaps, related to the war that we are facing,” Berias finally said, his voice low but steady. When all eyes turned to him, he said, “A peace delegation from the Aliri approaches from the northeast disguised as traders. I know this because they did not know how to haggle, which is unusual, to say the least.”
He saw that Farhad was about to speak, so he hurried to add, “Yet we know that the real threat comes from the Arcane’s wrath against Belkai. We are still getting word of strange beasts attacking towns. Goblin raids have increased. Strange creatures have been spotted in the Archon River.”
He looked at each person in turn and said,
“There is a wider war coming, and we will need to accept the Aliri offer of peace if we are to survive.”
Farhad’s eyes shot to Siara. She had warned him of this some months ago through a vision that she had received. He had refused to ask the Aliri for peace, and they had each lost hundreds of soldiers at Arborshire when Delorax’s minions had smashed through their lines. It seemed now that the Aliri had recognised the same threat.
There was no time to respond as the door opened again and the steward announced,
“By your Majesty’s leave, I present Daria of the Children of the Wind.”
The Svaletan who entered was only twenty, with luscious hair and wide inviting eyes. She wore a simple red robe that highlighted her figure as she came to stand beside Siara and bowed. Farhad gracefully accepted her greeting and invited her to speak, his eyes rarely rising to her face.
“I come with dire news.” Daria spoke with the high voice of the young. It was a voice that should have been used for poetry, Siara thought, not a mage living amongst the Ikari. “The Brilhardem have been attacked by the forces of Delorax. We sustained heavy casualties, but we defeated the assault.”
“Who attacked you?” Alihad asked, fury written on his face. Svaletan as he was, he had learned to respect and admire the power of the Brilhardem.
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Daria turned her eyes on him, and Siara saw tears welling. “Werewolves and Spellcasters claiming to serve Delorax.”
She turned back to the king, who quickly looked up at her eyes. “My Lord, our combat trainer Arak is leading a force of Brilhardem and Ikari to Narandir to pledge support to Belkai Androva. We ask for safe and speedy passage through your lands. We seek only peace, but we are prepared to defend ourselves should that prove necessary.”
Only a fool would interfere with such a force, Siara knew, but she could see the indecision in Farhad’s face. Even after all that had happened, he didn’t trust the mages, she realised. She was dealing with a fool. After a long minute of silence, the king finally nodded.
“We will alert our people to expect Arak and his companions,” he said, looking over at Berias and Alihad. “All their needs will be provided for. Does Narandir require reinforcements?”
“I do not know what Narandir needs,” Daria admitted. “But we stand with its lord.”
“Svaleta joins you in that devotion,” Siara announced, and Daria couldn’t hide the smile that forced its way to her face. “Should Belkai require our aid, we will provide it.”
Farhad was quick to take back control of his nation’s policies. “Belkai has been a friend to this Kingdom. We shall return the favour. Your friends will go with our blessing, Daria. You can rest in that.”
Had he known the consequences of that statement, his cowardice would have triumphed over his pragmatism.
***
Out of love for their new lord, and in deference to her humanity, the elves had built a log cabin for Belkai and her husband. It was a strange yet beautiful sight in the ancient forest, and it was a measure of their respect for the one who had freed them from their former master’s oppression. It was also a shelter, one of the few places where Belkai could be truly alone. As she made her way down the dirt path that evening, her nose was filled with the delightful aroma of venison cooking over a fire. She broke into the clearing to see Davos standing over the firepit, clothed only in a pair of leather trousers, his back turned to her. Tired from a day of reviewing food sources, Belkai nonetheless leaned against a tree, crossed her arms across her chest, and silently watched Davos as she sent out her senses to wrap around him. He had been the unexpected joy of her life. When she had been captive to the Father of Serpents, it had been Davos who saw through Ashelath’s lies and found Belkai’s heart. He had seen the evil lurking within her and still loved her, giving himself to her even as she charted a course that could have led to his death. Belkai had been with other men, but Davos was the first to hold her heart.
Her eyes ran over his dark skin, watching as thick muscles rippled as he moved. He had been a powerful man as the Chief Scout of Larton, but since coming to Narandir he had grown tougher, more confident. He had no defined duties in the Forest, but he had quickly ingratiated himself with the hunters, rivalling some of them with his tracking abilities. So today he had apparently tracked, killed, and butchered a deer – and avoided the Blackwings that would have tried to steal it from him. Belkai smiled and felt herself relax. He was her peace, her grounding. She’d never told him, but when she had the nightmares – two or three times a week – it was his heartbeat that brought her back to reality. It was steady now, the calm rhythm of a man at peace. He was as worried as Belkai about the future, but he managed to find something deeper than that fear. She was still learning, but she had a good teacher.
By now, Davos could tell when she was reaching out to him. That shouldn’t have been possible, but it seemed that their connection was deep enough for that. He turned, a playful smile on his lips as he saw her watching him. For her benefit, he yawned and stretched, giving her a clear view of every inch of exposed skin. He winked and asked,
“How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough,” she replied, and slowly swung her hips as she came to him. He took her in his strong arms, pulled her tight against his chest, and planted his lips on hers. She soaked it in, her heart racing at his touch. He broke off the kiss and waved at the fire.
“Perfect timing. Dinner is served.” He put a hand around her waist and guided her to a tree stump to sit. “I hunted it myself, of course.”
“You need a job,” Belkai said as she sat down and watched him collect the meat and pile it onto two platters along with salads that he had prepared. “This is not befitting the Chief Scout of Larton.”
He laughed at their regular joke. “I would have you know, they are doing well with combat training. They are skilled fighters, they just spent too many years subdued by Mishtar. All I’m doing is teaching them how the kingdoms fight.”
“Including the dwarves?”
Davos frowned. She had been growing increasingly suspicious of Nimura’s intentions. He didn’t know if she was right, but he had no reason to doubt her.
“My knowledge of them is limited,” he answered. “But they will be ready for any threat.”
“I hope so.” Sadness filled her eyes as she thought of the lives that had been lost so far. Davos read her sorrow and sighed.
“Belkai, listen to me,” he whispered. When she looked to him, he gave a sad smile. “You carry the weight of this world on your shoulders. You feel all of our pains in your own heart.”
Her head dropped, and Davos reached out and lifted her chin. She forced a smile through her tears.
“I love you for it,” he said. “I always have, and I always will. You have become a queen, my love. You no longer need to live in fear. You can be free.”
“How?” Belkai shook her head. “Davos, I wake from nightmares that would terrify you. Most nights I sneak away to the tunnel to meditate before that damned door. I spend every day dreading news that Delorax has made his next move. How am I supposed to be free?”
Much to her surprise, Davos laughed. “Did you think that was a secret?”
Belkai cocked her head and frowned. “You knew?”
Davos crossed his arms and feigned offence. “You married a half-elf, darling. I’d be no use if I didn’t notice you slipping out, or gripping my arm in the middle of the night.”
“You never said anything.” Belkai wiped a sleeve across her face to dry up her tears. “Why?”
Davos reached out a hand and squeezed her knee. “Because I knew what you needed. And I knew why you kept it quiet.”
Belkai felt her stomach churn. She had married a good man, better than she had ever deserved. He truly understood her and did his damnedest to give her what she needed. He had killed for her and been willing to die for her. Even now he sought to protect her from her own mind.
“Thank you, my love,” she whispered, and took his hand in her own. “I don’t deserve you.”
“You deserve the world,” he told her. “Don’t settle for less. But you have to let yourself live. You can’t let all of this consume you.”
Belkai thought for a moment, then sighed. “I need a moment, Davos.”
She went inside without saying another word. Davos looked out at the forest and took a deep breath. He knew what plagued her mind. It had only been a little over a month since the Prophetess had come to them with Delorax’s ultimatum to allow Belkai to be at peace so long as she followed Mishtar’s example and became the Recluse. She had denied the offer in no uncertain terms, but ever since Davos had seen the doubt gnawing at her. He couldn’t blame her. It was no small thing to defy the Arcane, especially so brazenly. He had tried to keep her emotionally safe, but there was only so much that he could truly do. His love would have to be enough. It had helped her conquer Ashelath. Perhaps it would continue to be the answer.
He heard a rustling, and lifted his head to look towards the cabin. He froze. Belkai stood in the doorway. She’d changed into a two-piece green-dyed felt outfit. The top came over her shoulders in two straps and wrapped tightly around her chest, clearly outlining her shape. The bottom piece wrapped around her thighs, revealing her long legs and covering little. She winked at Davos then disappeared inside the cabin. Dinner forgotten, he followed her inside to find her laying on the bed propped up on her elbows, with her legs spread out, further shortening the bottom wrap. He climbed onto the bed and knelt above her, resting his hands on her shoulders.
“What is this?” he whispered.
“One of the elves gifted it to me,” Belkai said, her green eyes burning. “It’s meant to be for special occasions.”
He ran his hands over the chest wrapping. It was as soft as silk, and he gently traced her full breasts beneath. She shuddered and bit her lip as he began to move his fingers faster.
“And what is the occasion?”
She pushed herself up to take more of his hands on her and whispered,
“Consider it a thank you for your love.”
It was, he decided afterwards, a very good ‘thank you’.
***
They were under the Forest now. Nizali could feel the air shift inside the tunnel as he reached the two dwarves assigned to oversee the shades. It was a change that he had never experienced before in the subterranean world. There was a heaviness about most dwarven tunnels, a sense that the whole world was pressing down on him. Throughout Nimura he felt as if he were beneath the world but still a part of it, forming the foundations of the earth. It was different here, he realised. Somehow he knew that he had stepped out of his own world into somewhere else, a place where his reality was somehow connected with another. There was a magic at work even so far underground, a peculiar sensation in the dirt. Did the elves above recognise it? Their ways had always been so foreign to Nizali and his people, their obsession with preservation and union with nature such a contrast to the dwarven drive to craft and shape things for themselves. And now it had finally been revealed that the key to the Ascendant had been this close for all these millennia. Just outside our reach all this time, he thought angrily as he made his way down the tunnel. The cursed elves had been sitting on it blissfully unaware.
And now the digging had stopped. Nizali was fighting to keep his anger under control as he came to the two overseers. Not a hundred feet beyond them, the shades stood motionless around their machines. The overseers looked at the king’s son with open apprehension. That was good; at least they knew that they were in defiance of orders.
“Why have you stopped?” Nizali growled as he stood before them. They exchanged glances before the older of them cleared his throat nervously.
“We cannot go further,” he said quietly. “We hit a barrier of sorts.”
“Magical?” The tunneling machines could have smashed through solid granite. There was no physical object the dwarves couldn’t break through.
“So it seems.”
Nizali stepped past them, his keen eyes studying the wall of rock before them. There was the faintest shimmer. He grunted.
“So the shades do nothing?” he asked, his eyes locked in the strange creatures. He heard the shuffling of feet, then the overseer said,
“They are communing with the Lord of Shadows.”
Nizali slowly turned to face them, unable to stop his eyes from going wide. “Falkar is here?”
“So it would seem.”
Nizali swore. They had been given this task by Falkar himself, but he had never revealed himself to any but the king. The change in approach was not a welcome one.
“He cannot breach Narandir,” the other overseer pointed out.
“He’s done something,” Nizali noted as the shades returned to their machines. Before they resumed digging, they began to make sounds, the first Nizali had heard from them. It was a strange, sad melody, a low wavering hum. Nizali felt something change in the air, and the rock began to fall before the tunnelers.
“By the gods,” an overseer whispered. Nizali grunted. There was no turning back now.